The place Gaynor selected for our late lunch was only a few minutes drive away, a quaint country inn with thatched-roof, low black beams, leaded windows and highly-polished hardwood flooring. Prints of hunting scenes, highlighting red coats and dappled dogs, adorned the walls and the stoutly-padded seats made wooden chairs surprisingly comfortable.

A few customers still lingered over their meals or drinks and some of them turned their heads as Gaynor, her tote bag bouncing at her right hip, sashayed towards a corner table. She wore black leggings and a knee-length smock-style dress, the floral pattern consisting mainly of red and purple petunia. It was sleeveless and the low-cut square neckline offered a seductive view of her cleavage.

We ordered drinks, skipped starters and, after eating a little of her chicken salad, Gaynor started moving the food around the plate with her fork.

“Something wrong with your meal?”

“Uh, uh,” she said and looked up at me. “No, it’s fine. Guess I’m not really that hungry after all. It’s happened quite a lot recently. I often feel hungry but after a few bites I’m full.” She gave me a brilliant white smile. “Maybe it’s something to do with getting older, eh? I remember a lot of the old folk in hospital only pecked at their food, especially the ladies. Just like little birds, they were, peck, peck, peck.”

“Maybe that was because it was hospital food.”

Gaynor shook her head, still smiling, golden hoops swinging at her cheeks. “No, the food was good. I should know, I ate enough of it over the years.” She placed the fork on the side of her plate and picked up her glass of white wine. “How’s your steak pie?”

I nodded while I finished chewing. “It’s okay, thanks. Yes, it’s a nice meal, almost as nice as the company.”

Gaynor snorted. “Flatterer!”

I shrugged. “If a man can’t pay a lady a compliment…”

“Richard, feel free to pay me all the compliments you like.” She sipped some wine as I continued to eat. “Fact is, that’s more or less what I’ve been thinking about. In a strange way, I feel that you paid me a huge one about an hour ago.”

“I did?”

“ Mmm, yes.” Another sip of wine deposited red lipstick stains on the rim of her glass. “You must have felt that I really wanted you inside me again, Richard. Yes?” She stared at me but didn’t wait for an answer. “You must have, I know you did. Anyway, you showed great restraint. You didn’t take advantage of my weakness.”

“Your weakness? Good God, Gaynor, I don’t have a clue how I managed to resist you.” I put down my cutlery and leaned forward. “But, and this is the truth, I don’t ever want you to think that I asked to meet you for one reason only. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about the old days, how good we were together in bed, of course I have. But there’s more to this than… well, you know…”

“Hmm, that’s what I’m saying. You treated me - no, you treated us, what we mean to each other - with respect. It wasn’t just,” and she, too, leaned forward, lowering her husky tone to almost a whisper, “well, hello there, let’s have a fuck for old times sake.”

I smiled broadly. “Exactly, Gaynor. We mean more than that, although…” and I shrugged, raised my hands palms upwards and opened my eyes wide, “who knows what might happen?”

“Cheeky, cheeky, Richard. You’re a very naughty boy.” She waved a reproving, metronome finger at me.

“Well, I’ve got to be honest, Gaynor. If the same opportunity came up again, I’m not sure what would happen. I’m not giving any guarantees about my behaviour if there’s another time.”

“Good.” She reached across the table and we linked hands among the glasses and plates of half-eaten food. “I’d like to be a more successful temptress next time, honey.”

We sat like that for some time, eyes looking into eyes, fingers squeezing, silly grins finally fading away as we released our grips and raised glasses to tender lips.

“There is one thing, of course,” said Gaynor. “And a very important thing it is.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And what’s that?”

Again she leaned forward, pressing against the table and exposing more of the soft swell of her glorious breasts. She virtually whispered, “You’re a married man. There’s Veronica to think about. It would be adultery, you know.” She sat back.

I downed the remnants of my wine, thinking, and then took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m very aware of everything. But, you don’t know the full story and, really, this isn’t the place to talk about it.”

Gaynor nodded, her gaze fixed firmly on my face. “I could guess some things from what you’ve already hinted. But, you’re right, this isn’t the place.” She swigged the last of her wine and lifted her bag off the floor onto her lap. “But I want to hear all about it, Richard. Look, there’s a little park with a lovely duck pond just around the corner from here. We can walk there and you can tell me about Veronica and you. Okay?”

I nodded agreement, Gaynor dumped a bread roll into her bag (“For the ducks”) and I paid for our meals and drinks. Hand in hand, we strolled to the park where we settled on a bench near the pond and watched the wildlife at play. 

It was there, in peace and quiet amid a background of birdsong and ducks quacking and foliage rustling in a warm breeze, that I unburdened myself. Gaynor listened, squeezed my hand at times, sighed at others and prompted me with occasional questions. 

Finally, when there was absolutely no more for me to reveal, Gaynor put her palms on either side of my face, drew me towards her and kissed me quickly but firmly on the lips. Her chocolate-drop eyes gazed into mine, the tips of our noses almost touching. “Thanks for telling me all that,” she said softly, again kissed my lips, and then added, “It’s quite an unusual marriage you’ve got there, Richard. Sex or no sex, a strong bond has kept you two together.”

THEN

I was concerned and wondered when things would change. When will they get back to normal? 

In my armchair, a glass of beer in hand and the television flickering in the corner of the lounge, I was deep in thought and only vaguely aware, like background music, that Veronica was upstairs settling the twins down for the night. Ah, the twins! In just over a week, it would be their first birthdays - a staggering thought. And that only served to highlight my continuing concerns and worries. Rubbing a forefinger over my chin bristles, I mused: Just when will Veronica be ready to make love again?

I took a hearty slug of beer and, once more, pondered on this strange, ongoing situation. I tried to make sense of the puzzle, reflecting on what had happened over the past year. Or not happened…

For six months after the birth of the twins, I had been caring, supportive and patient. I knew that Veronica had her hands full with the babies and needed all her rest and strength to cope with the demand on her time and energies. If it meant she was too exhausted for love-making, so be it. I accepted that. I could wait.

I nodded to myself: yes, those had been my initial thoughts.

Of course, I’d helped where and when I could but it was a two-way street. I, too, needed my strength to combat the stress and challenges of the business world. I frequently worked a six-day week and long hours at that. But, being in my early thirties, I was fit and blessed with a strong mind and physical stamina. No problems there. And Veronica also understood the work situation and supported me wholeheartedly.

So, I thought, everything has turned out pretty good. Everything, that is, except for this lack of sex - in fact, this total absence of sex. What’s happened? How did we got to this point? We used to have a great sex life and Veronica was often the instigator, eager to experiment with new positions and other stuff, including light bondage. But now? Well, I’m still virile and hungry but Veronica is… I don’t know, I’m not sure what she is. 

I leaned back in my chair, stared at the ceiling and recalled the various occasions over the months when I’d I tested the waters, cuddling up in bed and letting my hands wander. Without fail, I’d been rebuffed. If I touched her bra-covered breasts, she’d quickly say, “No, Richard, sorry, I’m a bit tender there.” I understood that, she was feeding two hungry mouths. But when my fingers strayed down her tummy towards her pubis she’d give me a quick peck on the lips, turn her back on me and say, “G’night, the girls will want feeding soon. I need some sleep.” Or something like that.

Even when we cuddled and spooned in bed, my erection pressing against her, Veronica hadn’t been the least bit responsive. It was as if my cock didn’t exist, as if she couldn’t feel it’s heat and thickness against her buttocks or thighs. Certainly she made a good job of ignoring it and ignoring me and my urges.

So, I mused, here I sit, the weeks having turned into months, still no action and I’m so, so bloody frustrated I could scream.

I swigged at my beer again. It’s little wonder that I’ve sometimes been tetchy and spoken sharply at her when she keeps coming up with all these fucking excuses. I shook my head at my choice of phrase and smiled ironically: that should be excuses not to fuck, of course. Anyway, when I snap she becomes tearful and claims she’s frazzled. “Give me time, please.” I can hear her pleading now.

Whatever, I’ve given her time and I’m still giving her time. A lot of it. I wonder, yet again, whether it’s all due to a post-natal reaction. But for this long? Is a year without sex normal? How would I know? The trouble is, men don’t talk about such things, it’s not a topic for discussion at work or over a drink. In fact, we married men never speak about our home sex life. It’s the ultimate no-no. Privacy rules!

I finished my beer and all seemed quiet upstairs. I switched off the television and the lounge lights, took my dirty glass into the kitchen and made my way upstairs to the bathroom. I cleaned my teeth and then peed. I looked down at my urinating cock and decided that I would see if Veronica was interested in making love tonight. I took a deep breath as I zipped up my pants. Yes, tonight’s the night, I’ve waited long enough. With this increased determination buzzing in my brain, I swilled my hands and face and walked first to the girls’ room. I popped my head around their door and stood a moment watching them sleep. Two little angels bathed in a soft pink nightlight.

In our bedroom, Veronica sat against propped up pillows and leafed through a magazine. She wore a satin nightdress, a pale shade of purple with white lace trimmings. She looked enticing. “Did you look in on the girls?” she asked.

“Yes, of course. They’re both out for the count, the little darlings.”

I quickly undressed and climbed naked between the sheets and immediately put a hand on Veronica’s nightie-clad thigh. She had good thighs, lean and smooth. She smiled down at me, put her magazine on the nightstand, adjusted her pillows and wriggled down the bed. With that movement, her nightie bunched up under my hand and she promptly reached down and tugged it back into place.

Veronica stretched out an arm to switch off her bedside lamp and I settled a hand on her left knee, eased it under her nightie and started to lightly caress and progress up her inner thigh.

“What are you doing, Richard?” she said, her left hand clamping down to stop my advance. The bedside lamp still glowed.

I looked at her frowning face and offered an encouraging corner-of-the-mouth smile. “I thought that might be obvious,” I said and pressed my fingers into her cool flesh.

She shook her head. “Not tonight, Richard, if you don’t mind. I’ve got such a lot on tomorrow.”

“Not tonight?” I said, my ire suddenly rising at yet another rejection. “You always say that: ‘not tonight.’ What night then? Tell me, so I can put it in my diary with a bloody great gold star to mark the momentous occasion.”

Clearly startled by my outburst, Veronica took a gulp of air. “Oh, don’t be angry…”

“Don’t be angry,” I spat. “Angry? I’m not angry, I’m bloody frustrated, frustrated as hell, that’s what I am. I just don’t know what’s happening with you, I really don’t. I’ve tried to be patient - no, I have been patient - but it’s more than a year since we made love. Do you realise that? Do you? More than a year…”

“Yes, I do know that,” she interjected, her hand still clamped over mine. Only the flimsy satin nightie separated us. “But getting angry and raising your voice to me won’t help. And, yes, I know how patient you’ve been. But, I’m sorry, Richard, I’m just not… well, I just don’t feel up to it yet.”

“Yet? Good God, Veronica, how much time do you need?” My pent up emotions, all the months of frustrating denials, had to be released. And this was the moment. I swiftly withdrew my hand and warmed to my theme. “You know, some women would be pregnant again by now, not still refusing their husband night after night, month after month.”

Veronica gasped and shook her head. “Oh Richard, don’t start, not now, not tonight,” is all she whispered. Tears misted her eyes.

In the growing silence, my chest heaving with barely contained fury and disappointment, I continued to gaze on her pretty but sad face and a myriad of thoughts flashed through my mind. 

I clenched my teeth, biting down hard, and gradually became calmer. This is the woman I had married, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, and we’d shared some truly wonderful experiences, some lovely times and great years. We’d been blessed with two healthy daughters. And yes, overall, my virgin bride had turned out to be a great wife and blossomed into an enthusiastic, satisfying sexual partner. There’d been no complaints. Until this past year.

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and my rage subsided along with their drifting trickle. I used a thumb to wipe the wetness off her cheek. “Sorry, Veronica,” I whispered and kissed the damp skin. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I do love you but it’s just…”

“I love you, too, very much, Richard,” she cut in and her lips formed a tentative smile through the tears. “ And I do know you’re frustrated.” She wiped the back of a hand under her slim nose and sniffed. 

“Yeah,” I agreed, reaching across her for the box of tissues. “I am frustrated. But I shouldn’t let it get the better of me like that.”

“No, that’s quite alright, it’s understandable, you’re a man.” She used a tissue to wipe her nose and smiled at me. “And I’m mighty glad about that.” 

She lifted a hand to my face and drew me in for a kiss. It wasn’t the fleeting nip I anticipated. It developed into a dizzying locking of lips, her warm panting breath heralding the intrusion of her tongue into my mouth. I was stunned. The passion behind the kiss was totally unexpected but I recovered to respond, swishing my tongue inside her mouth and licking hungrily.

We came up for air and gazed into each other’s eyes like long-ago lovers. My pulse rate increased. Was this indeed the moment? Was normal service about to be resumed, after all? I gently eased Veronica onto her back, ready to take advantage of the opportunity. My cock was already throbbing into a firm erection and I placed my left knee between Veronica’s legs and prepared to clamber between her thighs.

“No, Richard, please don’t.”

I looked down into her face and continued into the missionary position. “Why not? C’mon, just do it. Relax, forget all this nonsense about being tired and not ready yet. Let’s just do it.”

Veronica’s gaze focused somewhere over my shoulder and she shook her head. “No, I can’t, I don’t want to. Not now. Please, Richard, get off me.” She lay still, arms at her sides.

“For God’s sake, woman,” I hissed, “just pull up your nightie.” I boiled over with frustration. I was now in position, throbbing and palpitating, ready for penetration, but Veronica still denied me. I switched to persuasion, “C’mon, sweetheart, you must remember how you liked it. Spread your legs, please. Make love to me.”

No leg movement, only her head shaking from side to side, tears coursing over her flushed cheeks. “No, no,” she gasped, whispering and exhaling. “Please, if you love me, don’t do this. Please, Richard.”

“What do you mean, if I love you?” I didn’t comprehend her reasoning. “Can’t you see it’s because I love you that I want us to do this?”

I didn’t wait for a response but got up into a kneeling position, plucked at the hem of her nightdress and hauled it up, exposing her taut thighs and a glimpse of white panties at her crotch. Veronica put both hands to her groin, holding down her nightie. “No, Richard, don’t,” she said. “Stop it, now.”

“I don’t want to stop. I want to make love, like we used to do. Look Veronica… look at me, look down here. I’m hard and bursting to make love to you.”

Veronica didn’t look. Her eyelids closed, tears still oozing. “No, Richard, no. I’m sorry but no.”

“Please, Veronica, I need you. Feel this…” I took her left hand and guided it towards my rigid member. Her fingers were soft on my shaft but they were motionless, reluctant. I sighed. “Please, Veronica, please. C’mon darling…”

She opened her eyes and withdrew her hand. “No, I’m sorry Richard. I can’t.” She inhaled deeply and stared up into my face and softly told me, “If you must do it, carry on… I won’t stop you. Rape me if you must. But, please, don’t come inside me. Promise me that.”

Time froze, the world stopped revolving. I stared at my wife’s distraught face, the tight line of her lips and the tears misting her eyes. “Rape?” I mumbled. “I would never rape you. I couldn’t do that.” On cue, my erection diminished. “I only want to love you.”

I got from between Veronica’s legs and pulled her nightie back down to her knees. I lay on my back, pulled up the bed covers and closed my eyes. What had just happened?

NOW

The day before my 58th birthday, I rang the bell on Gaynor’s door, heard the unknown tune from somewhere up above and waited as footsteps descended the stairs and approached on the other side of the door.

“Who is it?” asked the familiar husky voice.

“It’s me, Richard.”

“What’s the password?”

I smiled and wracked my brain for an appropriate response. “Gentleman Caller.”

“That’ll do,” and the door swung open. Gaynor enthusiastically pulled me into an embrace, a gold hoop pressing against my cheek. “Good to see you, Gentleman Caller,” she breathed into my ear and then leaned back at arm’s length. “Let me look at you, old man.”

I also looked at her. She wore her nurse’s uniform, starched white with green belt clinched at the waist and upside-down fob watch resting on her right breast. “Old man?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“Yes, you… you’re an old man. Oh, sorry, excuse me.” She raised a hand to her mouth and then removed it to reveal her brilliant white teeth in a broad grin. “Silly me. I suppose I’m a day early, aren’t I? You don’t become old until tomorrow, do you?”

Again, this beautiful woman had stunned me. “Amazing,” I said, as we linked hands. “I never thought for one moment you’d remember my birthday.”

“But of course, why wouldn’t I? Don’t you remember mine?”

I frowned and simulated a chewing motioning on the inside of my mouth.

“What? I don’t believe you.” Gaynor looked at me in disbelief. “You must remember, surely.”

Then I grinned. “February sixth.”

“Bastard,” she said, grinning. “I’ve a good mind to slap your bottom for that.”

“Oooh, nurse… please, nurse,” I pleaded and we fell into another hug before Gaynor turned and walked towards the stairs.

She looked over a shoulder and said, “Close the door and then let’s see if, this time, you can have a proper look at my photographs on the walls.”

“Of course,” I said but the task became instantly impossible as Gaynor cheekily hitched up the skirt of her uniform. She wore flat shoes, her shapely legs were encased in black tights and, as I followed her ascent of the stairs, I was constantly distracted by flashes of the white panties which encased her swaying rear end.

At the top, she let the skirt fall back into place, turned to me and said, “Well, what d’you think? Which did you like the best?”

“Ahh, well now, let me think… probably the bird with long black legs and flashes of white.

Think it’s called a Mynah bird… No, wait a minute. Yes, that’s right, it’s called a Gaynor bird.”

Gaynor mockingly clapped her hands. “Well done, Richard. Not bad at all for a nearly old man.” She turned and I followed her towards the kitchen. “I’ll make coffee and then get changed out of this uniform.”

I feigned disappointment: “Oh, you didn’t put it on specially for me, then?”

“Why,” she said, switching on the electric kettle, “are you in need of a nurse? You’re surely not that ancient. Yet.”

“Okay, enough of this ageist stuff. I’ll have you know I’m very fit…”

“For a man of your age,” she interjected.

“Ignoring that, I’m very fit and I still carry my golf clubs around the course. I don’t need an electric trolley or buggy to get round.”

“In that case,” said Gaynor, handing me a mug of instant coffee, “you’ll be able to carry this into the lounge.”

We sat in the chairs in the bay window and Gaynor told me that she’d answered an urgent request to work a four-hour shift at a nearby hospice. She was on the books of a nursing agency and usually worked three or four shifts each week at various local hospitals and nursing homes.

“I will only do short hours, usually four but never more than six,” she said, blowing to cool her hot drink. “At my age, and I’m nowhere near as ancient as you, it suits me. It pays quite well, gets me out of the house and, quite honestly, I still like the work. The old folk are best but it’s sad to see some of the patients in the hospices. They’re dying and all we can do is try to make their end as comfortable and pain-free as possible.”

She drank and then looked down into her mug. We sat in silence, both apparently deep in thought until I said what I’d been thinking. “Good job you stayed on and finished your training all those years ago.”

Gaynor looked up at the sound of my voice. “What? Mmm, yes, it was.” She smiled across at me. “Just a pity I couldn’t have the best of both worlds, eh?”

My answering grin must have been sheepish. “Never mind,” said Gaynor quickly, “we might not have worked out. There’s no way of knowing. Perhaps all these things happen for the best. You know, fate, karma, call it what you will.”

I put my half-empty mug on the table. “Maybe,” I said, “but I do know we can’t do anything about the past. We can have regrets and think ‘if only’ but…”

“We’ve been over this before, Richard.”

“Yes, but what I just want to say is, we’re here now, together, and we’ve got a second chance to… well, enjoy ourselves, be loving friends, and…”

“Yes, you’re right, I know what you mean.” Gaynor looked at me but didn’t smile. “I hope we can work it out, Richard. This isn’t an ideal situation, far from it.” She raised a hand to stop me interrupting. “I know and accept that you’re married and that’s it. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of any rift, certainly not a divorce, and you’ve been frank enough to say you’ve no intention of hurting Veronica.”

“Or leaving her,” I said quietly and quickly.

“Yes, or leaving her.” Gaynor nodded. “So, we know where we stand. Or think we do. But I must tell you this Richard and I promise I will never mention it again.”

Now Gaynor’s brown eyes burned into mine and she sat upright in her chair, placed her mug next to mine on the table, and reached out with both hands. I hitched forward in my chair and took her hands in mine. Her nails were free of varnish. A working day, of course.

“I really don’t know how far we can go. By that, I suppose I really mean, how far I can go.” She took a deep breath and stared at our linked hands. “I’ve told you before, I will not get hurt again. Once was more than enough. I’ll never forget that heartbreak and I’ll never go through it again. Not knowingly, anyway. It was too much pain.”

“Gaynor, I know…”

“Please, Richard, let me finish.” I nodded and she continued, her husky voice low and rich like cream. “But, as I’ve told you, I never forgot you and I never stopped loving that Richard, that young man I fell in love with all those thirty-odd years ago. And so, driven by God knows what, I used Facebook. And, this is the point really…” she looked up at me, gazed steadily into my eyes, “since then, over these past weeks, through our emails and phone calls, and especially with our meetings, I believe I still love you. Today’s Richard.”

We squeezed fingers and I felt a lump gather in my throat. Before I could muster any words, Gaynor said, “We are soulmates, I believe that with all my heart. I believe that’s why we are here today. But, and this is from my heart, if I ever think I’m heading for a fall, if I think I’m in danger again, I will stop seeing you. As much as that will hurt, it’s far better than…”

Gaynor shrugged and let the sentence trail away. No more needed to be said.

Eventually, I found my voice. “I perfectly understand, Gaynor. For my part, I haven’t resumed our relationship to hurt you again. I’ve done it because, like I’ve said, I think we can both get some happiness from each other. I know I have already.”

I stood and, with our hands still linked, Gaynor rose from her chair. “As for Veronica and our marriage… I told you a lot about that the other day.” Gaynor nodded. “In all but the bedroom, she has been a good partner, loyal and faithful and utterly supportive. A friend. She’s also an excellent mother. So, if I walked away from her, for whatever reason, I wouldn’t be the man I think I’ve become.”

Gaynor frowned. “You’ve not changed that much, Richard. Older…” she smiled.

“Oh, but I think I have. And not just in numbers, twenty-five to fifty-eight or whatever. No, I mean in my persona; I’m not so selfish, arrogant and pig-headed. I do think of others and their feelings.”

“Aaah, the penny drops,” said Gaynor. “You walked away from me but… oh yes, you wouldn’t do the same to Veronica. I see.”

“Yes, and it’s still largely unfair on you. The lesson I learned benefits Veronica but…well, the love of my life, still suffers. That bit’s not fair.”

“And you, too, Richard. Don’t forget, you too have suffered. Maybe you still are suffering.”

I pulled Gaynor into a hug, kissed her cheek and whispered into her ear, “But we’re here now.”

“Indeed we are, Richard… and you’re crushing me.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said and relaxed my arms.

Gaynor stood back and took a deep breath. “Good God, you squashed my tits there, Richard. Reckon I’m only 32A now,” and she chortled, brushing her hands over her mighty bosom. She quickly kissed my lips. “I’m glad we’ve had that little chat. Now we’ve both definitely got our eyes open so, whatever happens from now on, no recriminations, eh? We’re not in the hurting game, okay?”

I nodded. “Loving friends, even if one of us is old.”

“Ah, so true. But this nurse will look after you.” She smiled. “Speaking of which, I need to get this uniform in the washer. Can you help by unzipping me?”

“Sure,” I said, ‘turn around.”

Gaynor laughed as she unbuckled her green belt. “Bloody hell, Richard, look here… the zip’s at the front. Oh, never mind, you’ve missed your chance.”

“Nooo, stand still.” I reached for the zipper and drew it over the soft swell of her chest and down to her waist. The starched material didn’t flop open and Gaynor poked her tongue at me.

“Thought you’d get a sneaky peek, didn’t you, naughty boy? That’s two slaps on the bottom now.”

“Oh yeah, you’re all promises, you are. Just a tease.”

“Is that so, Mr Johnson?” She started to leave the room but stopped at the doorway. “A tease, am I?” With her back to me, she used her right hand to ease the uniform off her left shoulder, exposing the soft caramel flesh. “We’ll see about that,” and she wiggled her behind and walked off towards the kitchen, leaving me with an open mouth and racing pulse.

I sat back in the chair and sipped lukewarm coffee. And waited. Shortly, I heard what I believed to be the washing machine portal being closed and the subsequent hiss of flowing water. I didn’t hear Gaynor return but suddenly, gloriously, there she stood in the doorway, hands on hips, staring directly at me. She was naked except for white frilly briefs. And a pair of gold hoops.

“Oh. My. God.”

Gaynor smiled. “Goddess, maybe?”

“Oh yes, Goddess Gaynor. You are beautiful.”

She walked towards me, her proud breasts bobbing, and asked, “You approve then? Not too bad for a girl in her mid-fifties?”

“Amazing, absolutely stunning,” I said, wrapping my arms around her and sharing a kiss that would probably arouse a eunuch. Our tongues poked, prodded, danced and lapped. Our lips meshed fiercely, moans and sighs drifted out of salivating mouths. Our hands roamed, mine tingling from the feel of soft, warm, silky skin.

But, however much we tried, we couldn’t maintain the kiss for ever. “Hmm,” said Gaynor, licking her tongue over lipstick-free lips. “If you’d like to use the bathroom first, I’ll meet you in the bedroom. Okay?”

I nodded, dumbly, and reluctantly stepped away.

In the bathroom, I unzipped my pants and wrestled my fattening penis out of my briefs and peed. I knew, without any doubt, where this cock of mine was headed. And I thanked the Lord that, although I’m nearly an Old Man, it was still in good working order. Well, let’s be honest, it hadn’t exactly been over-used.

Hands swilled under warm water and dried, I headed for the bedroom. The door was ajar and I pushed it open to find…

Gaynor in bed, facing me, head propped on her right hand and the duvet pulled up and tucked into her left armpit. The duvet cover and sheets were black but the pillows were white. The curtains at the bay window were closed, shutting out the pale sunlight, and bedside lamps cast a pink, shadowy glow over the room.

“Not too decadent is it?” Her voice was low, husky and contained a hint of laughter. It was oh so sexy.

“Said the spider to the fly,” I replied and walked towards the bed. I bent and removed shoes and socks. I peeled off jumper and sports shirt, unbuckled my belt and stepped out of my fallen trousers. I could sense Gaynor watching me as I placed my clothes on a nearby chair.

I lifted the edge of the duvet, ready to climb into bed. Gaynor looked at my briefs, raised her eyebrows, and said, “Really? Why do you need those, Richard?”

“Ah, silly me,” I managed, although my tongue was clinging to my dry mouth. I turned my back, removed the briefs and then slid into bed. Gaynor immediately draped her left arm across my chest and rested her head into the crook of my shoulder and neck. Her scent wafted warmly from beneath the covers.

I kissed her forehead and her left hand found my growing stiffness. I grew even more as my right hand latched on to the firm but pliable orb which was her left breast. My fingers found the nipple firm and erect and I knew I must suck it.

Gaynor released her hold on my cock and rolled on to her back as I slid down the bed to suck on her right nipple. With my right hand, I kneaded and rubbed her left breast. Gaynor sighed as I raised my right leg, bent at the knee, across her abdomen. My erection compressed against her hip and I felt the first seepage of pre-cum.

With Gaynor’s right arm draped down my back, her fingers playing at the base of my spine, I stopped fondling and sucking her generous tits and moved down her torso, leaving a trail of wet kisses and finger-tip trails over her chest, stomach and belly until I reached a curly, pubic garland. I stopped breathing, elated by the softness of her hairy mound and the expectancy of the delights that awaited below.

Gaynor shuffled her feet, kicking the duvet down the bed. I assisted and the cover fell away, allowing me to freely get between her legs. I rested my head on her undulating, squishy belly and resumed shallow breathing. Both hands were on her firm, long thighs but I couldn’t resist any more: I needed to see, touch and kiss Petal.

Gaynor drew her feet up the mattress, spreading her knees and thighs, and I eased down to look upon her pussy. Below the curls was a glistening pink slit, barely open, and I lapped along it from bottom to top. I savoured the sweet juices and more pre-cum exited my throbbing tube. I gently rubbed a finger along the moist opening, teasing at the outer labia, watching and waiting for the flower to bloom. I licked and lapped, eased a finger inside, rotated a thumb on the clit hood, and reached heaven’s gates when Gaynor’s thighs spread wide and the petals appeared.

“Oh my,” I muttered and tenderly kissed her flower, drinking in the nectar. Her intense, feminine odour assailed and filled my nostrils as I again buried my tongue deep between her petals, licking and lapping, kissing and sucking. Gaynor moaned, rocked and rolled her hips, and placed both hands on my head, holding it firmly against her thrusting groin. With a great gasp she surged and squirmed, thrust and trembled, and more juice coated my probing tongue.

She finally stretched out her legs, released her grasp on my head and tapped me gently on the shoulders. “Come up here, my darling,” she said and I clambered along the black sheet to lay facing her. My hot cock pressed against her tummy as I kissed her mouth.

“Hmm, I can taste me,” she whispered, and wiped the back of a hand across her lips. “And I think you’ve been telling me lies.”

“What?”

“Yes, all these years you say you haven’t had sex,” she said, brown eyes twinkling, “but you set me off in minutes. Come on, honey, tell me the truth.”

I smiled. “It is the truth. But you always did come quickly when I got down there.”

“True,” she said, kissing the tip of my nose, “and you haven’t lost the art. You’re still like that expensive drink, a real top-class liquor.”

I grinned at the old joke. “And you’re still my Petal.”

“You’re too kind. But I know I’m not as dainty or delicate anymore. A little bit larger and more like butterfly wings.” She smiled. “But, enough of that,” and she reached down between us and circled her fingers around my rigid meat, “I think we’ve got unfinished business to attend to here.”

She pushed me onto my back and straddled my waist, her glorious globes swaying and bobbing. “It’s your turn to lie back and enjoy.”

Her boobs came tantalisingly close to my face as she leaned forward, reached down between her legs and presented my fat dome to her wet slit. She worked the head between her lips and I gasped, held my breath and delighted in the sensation of disappearing into her dark, soft, mysterious tunnel. My whole length was swallowed in one easy movement and I reached up to hold both tits during her ride up and down.

Gaynor smiled down at me and then closed her eyes as my cock bulged, alerting us both to the impending climax. I shared the rhythm, thrusting as she sat on me, and I grunted loudly when my balls tightened and pumped my seed in spurt after streaming spurt.

“Oh, God, yes,” muttered Gaynor, still maintaining her glide on my shaft. “Loads and loads of cum.” Again she smiled at me, my chest heaving in the after-glow of our wonderful union. “Loads for a nearly Old Man, that is.”

I reached round to playfully slap her buttocks in response.

“Aaah, that reminds me. I owe you a couple of spankings, don’t I?” She raised a forefinger to her lips and cocked her head from one side to the other. “Weeeell,” she elongated the word, “you’ve been a very good boy since, so I think I’ll excuse you. Just this once, mind,” and she bent to briefly kiss my lips.

I wasn’t fully limp when Gaynor dismounted, releasing our mixed fluids, and snuggled down besides me, our hands linked at our chests. “Thank you,” I said.

She smiled. “Thank you, my birthday boy. Let’s have a few minutes rest and then we can get up and have a shower. Okay.”

I nodded. “Ladies first, of course.”

“Nah, not today. We’ll have it together. Saves water,” she chortled.

~~~~~~~

Much later, back home in my office, 10:42 showing on the clock in the corner of my computer screen and Veronica asleep in bed, I took a small package from my pocket. When the time had approached for me to reluctantly leave, Gaynor had produced it and pressed it into my palm.

“Just a little something from me,” she said. “Take it as a birthday present or just as a gift from Your Petal. It’s up to you.” Then she’d kissed me, stared into my eyes and said, “It’s not a big thing and I know you’ll make sure Veronica doesn’t find it. That’s why I haven’t got you a birthday card. Not safe is it? Anyway, I thought you could stash this little thing in your car. Probably out of sight in the glove compartment until you need to use it. Okay?”

“Right,” I said, unable to figure out what it might be. “Shall I open it now.”

“No.” Shakes of her head set the gold hoops rocking. “When you get home, perhaps in your car. Anyway, hope you like it. Now be off with you. Send me a message when you’ve arrived safely. I’ll be up quite late tonight.”

When I’d parked the Volvo in the garage, I’d sent a text to confirm I was safe and that I would e-mail later tonight. Now I removed the wrapping paper to reveal a small white cardboard box. I lifted the lid and a sheet of paper slightly unfolded. I opened it and read the neatly-written penned note:

I got this some days ago and I wrapped it up before your visit today. If all has gone according to plan, you will know and appreciate what it means. When you’ve looked at it, there is another note in the bottom of the box. Love xx”

A wad of cotton wool was next and I removed it and found… a keyring and key. But it wasn’t just any old keyring. This, I could see at first glance, was special. I took it out of the box between thumb and forefinger, used my other hand to poke my spectacles up to the bridge of my nose, and closely examined the gift. It was metallic and superbly crafted. The flower, and I didn’t have a clue what sort it was, had pale pink petals and a Red Admiral butterfly, it’s wings partially spread, had settled on it. Petals and butterfly wings! Brilliant! I didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. 

Instead, I removed a second piece of cotton wool, unfurled the next note and read:

Hope you like it. And the key? It’s to my heart. Also, more practically, it opens my door (it will save me running up and down the blessed stairs to let you in and out!) Love and kisses xx Happy birthday, Old Man xx

I returned the notes to the bottom of the box and covered them with the cotton wool. The keyring I rested on top, leaving the lid off, and placed the box next to my computer. I had an email to compose and send. It was now 10:50 and when the page loaded, I had only seven messages. The top one was from Gaynor Reid. I opened it immediately:

My darling Richard,

I know you’re planning to write tonight but I just had to send this. It’s from my heart, Richard.

I had a hard time letting you go today. I really, really didn’t want you to leave. I wanted you to stay here with me. But you can’t stay and so I waved you away. I felt sick to my stomach and, for an hour or so, I did nothing but cry and sob. That’s not like me, Richard, it really isn’t. Other than the other day when we listened to our songs, I can’t remember the last time I wept. And certainly not like I’ve done today.

Truthfully, I became quite a hardened bitch in the years after you left me. You don’t know that side of me (you wouldn’t want to, eh?). Fact is, you may probably not know the real me anyway. Or perhaps this is the real me. Who bloody knows?

Anyway, I know I put a brave face on and saw you off with a kiss and smile, sending you back to Veronica. But, and I’ve decided it’s no good lying or pretending otherwise, you’ve got to know the truth. I was breaking up inside. I honestly don’t know if all this is good for me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve absolutely loved seeing you and, even in this brief time and under strange circumstances, it’s been great having you back in my life. But where’s it leading to, Richard? More heartbreak for me?

What happened between us today was simply wonderful. Perhaps that’s the trouble. I’m just not used to feeling loved and wanted. I’ve been closed off to deep affection for such a long, long time. I honestly didn’t expect to feel like it ever again. But now. Oh, I don’t know. 

I think it’s best if I stop now. I think you’ll understand what I’m saying. Hope so anyway (then you can explain it to me, he he!).

I look forward to getting your message. I won’t be going to sleep anytime soon but I will get into bed with my laptop and smell you on the sheets and pillows. Grrr!

Love

Gaynor x x x

I looked at the message filling the screen, glanced at my new special keyring, and then at my keyboard. I knew I had to respond but I was in a whirl with conflicting emotions battling for my attention. Much like Gaynor must feel. I read her words again and her torment struck me like a hammer blow, or a knife to the heart.

I leaned back in my swivel chair and gripped the arms so tight that my knuckles stretched the skin, the white patches prominent against my golfer’s suntanned hands. This wouldn’t be an easy message to write.